I Am Nerevar!
by ICRepresentative
Summary: Pallas meets a Nord who thinks he is the Nerevarine, and stupidity ensues.


**Disclaimer**: Greetings outlander. What do you think of our fanfic? Hail Bethsada.

* * *

"I am Nerevar Reborn!" 

Pallas's head swivelled around. Reporting to Ranis could wait; this was something she had to see.

A drunken Nord stood in Balmora square, his axe raised to the sky, roaring a challenge to the heavens. It was easy for Pallas to slip into the crowd and watch the fool make an even bigger fool of himself. Someone had obviously given this man one too many bottles of matze.

"I am the Reincarnate!" The man declared, swinging his axe around. He threw back his head and roared. Thunder roared distantly, as though in response. The crowd murmured appreciatively.

_For a fool_, Pallas thought, _he's putting on an impressive show_.

The knight looked around the gathered crowd. Being market day, the whole town was out here. Even the recluses who normally kept to their homes were out. And most of them were very much impressed. Pallas barely hid a smile when she saw Llandras Belaal and Rararyn Raclarys, two of Dagoth's own, looking between the drunken lout and Pallas with barely concealed frowns. Could it have been that their god was wrong? Pallas couldn't help it - she turned away and coughed into her hand, hiding a chuckle.

"I have come to be a saviour to this land!"

Pallas sighed. This was getting a little melodramatic, especially considering what the man was claiming. The town's Dunmer population looked unconvinced, and Pallas heard someone mutter 'soul sickness'.

Movement distracted Pallas' eye. She saw a thin Dunmer boy weave between the crowd, running for the Temple. _Enough theatrics_, Pallas thought darkly. _This man is going to get himself killed_.

"I AM THE NEREVARINE!" The sky was torn apart with a flash of lightning, and thunder roared. Pallas jumped. Coincidence, but a startling one. Even the Nord in the centre of the square seemed surprised that his 'miracle' worked.

But, knowing the Temple, any excuse would give them reason to put him to death for such a claim.

"Alright, friends," Pallas stepped into the circle of people, "I think its best if you go now, and leave this… this fine fellow alone." She stage-whispered, "He's incredibly drunk, and it is about to rain." She spread her arms wide and smiled sheepishly. "Go about your business, citizens!"

The drunken Nord pushed Pallas from behind, making her stumble. "How dare you!" He slurred. Pallas smelt the matze heavily on his breath. She cursed herself. A Nord on matze is a dangerous thing - dangerous enough to tear a daedra apart with bare hands. She should know - she had done it herself.

"Forgive me, oh Nerevarine," Pallas said gently, barely hiding the sarcasm, "I did not mean to interrupt your show."

The Nord scratched the stubble on his chin and frowned. "Doubt not the miracles you see today, lass! For I am Lord Nerevar reborn, and have come to free Morrowind from the…"

"Yes, yes, yes," Pallas said, flapping one hand dismissively. She looked briefly over her shoulder. The crowd was beginning to disperse, but Llandras, Rararyn, and a handful of Pallas' friends were watching… the first two with ire, the others with amusement. She turned back to the Nord, hating herself already. "Perhaps, sera, I could buy you an alcoholic beverage? Then, perchance, you could tell me all about your adventures and the Prophesy that surrounds you, for I am ever so eager to hear of such fantastical and wonderful tales."

The Nord blinked.

_By the Gods_, Pallas fought the keep a pleasant smile on her face, _This man is thicker than a guar's backside_. _Big words scare him_.

Slowly, the Nord nodded. "Aye. Aye, a drink would be a fine start to telling a story. And a true story at that!" The man laughed, a booming laugh, and he hefted his axe onto his shoulder. "Lead the way, my fair lassie, and don't be a skin-flint, for my story is long in the tellin', and I need all the booze you can buy!"

Pallas bristled.

* * *

It was his seventeenth bottle of matze. Pallas thanked the Nine once more that the barkeeper knew her, and was willing to sell her ale at lower prices. He did, however, find it amusing that she was buying drinks for a man she obviously had no interest in. His smirk didn't bother her, though. The other patrons found it amusing, and, since Pallas' usual tavern of choice was the South Wall, Chirranirr from the Thieves Guild had come to investigate. _Her_ feline grin was almost maddening. 

"… And den I fell upon that foul beasht, cleaving it in twin… in twin… in TWAIN with my mighty axe!" He belched.

"That sounds nice," Pallas said patiently, feeling anything but patient. "Does your axe have a name, mighty Nerevar?"

The Nord grinned at her. "Kill-lots."

Pallas smiled tightly. "A perfect name, oh powerful one." She jumped as she felt a hand on her leg.

"Y'know," the Nord smiled drunkenly in her direction, "You're a pretty girl… and you're a Nord too, so we have a lot in common, wouldn't you say?"

Pallas peeled the hand from her thigh. "I'm flattered by your attention, Nerevarine, but the Prophesy says the Neverine has to keep his hands to himself…" Crap, crap, crap, it said nothing of the sort.

The Nord through his hand around her shoulder and pulled her onto his lap. "Don't be shy, lassie. You know you're hungry…"

Pallas flushed bright scarlet. _Give me tombs, lairs, dungeons, Daedric ruins. Give me vampires, zombies, corprus beasts, even dragons. Those I can handle. What I can't handle is some drunk lush feeling me up in a bar while my comrade runs from the room laughing enough to wake the dead_!

"Get your hands off me!" Pallas pushed the drunken fool backwards and leapt to her feet. She put the table between herself and him.

The Nord pulled himself upright, his face reddening with rage and drink. He fumbled for his axe and grunted.

Pallas, still blushing bright red, sighed resignedly. "Forgive me, Lord Nerevar," she stammered convincingly, "But I'm not worthy of your attentions. Forgive me." _But the next time you try that, fool, I'm castrating you with axe of yours_.

The drunken Nord peered through his greasy mop of hair as he staggered to his feet. He needed a second or so for Pallas' words to sink in, then he nodded unsteadily. And grinned even more so.

"You've got no need to be scared, schweetheart…" He sat back down. "You musht be show awed that the Never-rain is here, and drinking with you…"

Pallas rolled her eyes. _Gods, give me patience_.

"But!" He held up a finger. "You're right. We shouldn't rush things." He smirked at her. "We don't want to ruin the moment…"

The gods' gift of patience didn't come fast enough. "I'm brought you in here and made you absolutely and completely plastered so that the Temple wouldn't take you seriously." She snapped. "Don't make me regret it."

The Nord frowned. "The Temple? I'm not afraid of them!"

"Calling yourself the Nerevarine is like walking into the Cammona Tong and saying 'All Dunmer are n'wah'. It's an instant invitation for death."

The drunken Nord looked smug. "Let them try! They'll never schlay me. I am the NEREVARINE."

Pallas sighed and sat down… opposite him, out of his reach. "No, you're not." She said wearily.

The man looked affronted. "Yeah, I am! I've been tellin' you all night of my heroic deeds, and you have been listening without even a word of complaint…"

Absently, Pallas noticed that the Nord was becoming more coherent… and intelligent. _The matze must be wearing off_.

"And yet here you are, saying to my face that all I've done shows that I am not the Nerevarine?" He snorted. "Women." He muttered darkly under his breath.

Pallas sighed. "I just saved your life. And if you want to keep it, I'd advise you stop claiming that you are Lord Nerevar reincarnate."

The Nord glowered at Pallas across the table. "Just because you bought me drinks and have a pretty face doesn't mean you can convince me of my life's true calling! I am the Nerevarine!"

"Is there any way I could convince you otherwise?"

* * *

"You really like to put yourself in the most awkward of situations, don't you." 

Pallas hit her head on the table again.

"And stop doing that," Caius snapped. "If you keep that up you'll break the table. Your skull is famously thick, Nord."

The woman lifted her head. "I'm an idiot." She moaned.

Caius Cosades sighed, but offered little sympathy. "No offence, but Nords aren't exactly famous for their intelligence." He looked down at the woman. "Are you sure you didn't drink any of that matze? Sujamma, maybe?"

"You have to help me out of this," the knight looked up at the spymaster, her eyes pleading. But Caius shook his head.

"You got into this, you get out of it."

"Caius!"

The man shrugged. "This isn't Blade business. I can't do anything." He shook his head. "What in the Nine Hells possessed you to say such a thing?"

Pallas shrugged, but lowered her eyes. "The fool was claiming to be Nerevar Reborn. He was going to get himself killed."

"So?"

The callous brutality of the word made Pallas lift her head and stare. "What do you mean, 'so'? I'm not letting an innocent man die because…"

"No," Caius interrupted, folding his arms, "You're just trying to preserve your foolish Nord pride."

Pallas gaped at him.

"Just because the Emperor _believes_ you to be the Nerevarine doesn't mean that you _are_. For pity's sake, Pallas, you should have just let the fool have his head lopped off. It would teach him a lesson." He raised an eyebrow knowingly. "And you as well."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Pallas growled back.

"Break your promise?" The old man shrugged. "You'll get over it."

Pallas grit her teeth. "I. Can't. Do. That."

"Oh, yeah," Caius rolled his eyes, "The 'honour of a knight'." He chuckled and shook his head. "You're neck-deep, aren't you?"

"There has to be some way," Pallas rose and started pacing back and forth, "Some way of getting out of having to…" she shuddered, then ploughed on, "Yet somehow convince that fool he's not the Nerevarine."

Caius watched the woman pace for a while. "Listen," he said finally. "You're making me dizzy. Stop walking, start thinking."

"Well, you're no help," Pallas grunted, "Anyone would think you don't believe I'm the Nerevarine."

"I don't, actually."

Pallas turned to the spymaster, horrified. "Caius!"

"What?" The old man said, amused by the Nord's reaction. "The Emperor believes you have the 'appearance' of fulfilling the prophecy. So, for appearance's sake, you're the Nerevarine. That doesn't mean that you actually _are_…"

"Thanks." She said bitterly. "Your encouragement is overwhelming."

Caius rolled his eyes. "Listen, if someone came up to you, and asked you if you were the Nerevarine, how would you prove it?"

Pallas gaped for a moment.

"My point exactly." Caius grinned, then stretched. "Listen, all this talking makes me thirsty. I'm going to the South Wall. If you've got any idea how to save your chastity from the 'Nerevarine', I suggest you'd better put it into action. Otherwise, you're going to have to compromise your wondrous legend."

"A drink?" Pallas stared at the spymaster.

"Yes," the older man smiled, "Can I get you something?"

Pallas smiled, suddenly looking as smug as a milk-fed guar. "No, thanks. I think I'll make my own." She pulled her alchemy gear out from under the table and began setting it up. Caius wrinkled his nose.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, "But this time, leave the windows open so the fumes have time to escape. They nearly killed me last time."

"Will do," Pallas said, distracted. She upended her pack on the table and began sorting through the assortment of plants and other items she'd collected in her travels.

Caius rolled his eyes again before. The results of Pallas' alchemical experiments were worse than the ash-plagues. And four times as likely to kill you.

* * *

"Well, you're in high spirits, Pallas. Get out of your date with your friend?" 

Pallas smiled knowingly at Barcola as he poured her a measure of greef. "Oh, no, I went along. And it all went so well."

Barcola grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Really? This is one story I have to hear."

Pallas saw Chirranirr whispering to Sugar-Lips, and both Khajiit moved surreptitiously closer to Pallas, their ears pointed in her direction.

The Nord knight smiled smugly, "Well, my old friend was no help at all… but something he said gave me an idea. Seeing as I am a knight, my word is my bond. And I'd given my word that I'd convince the drunken fool he wasn't the Nerevarine. That way, I could save his life… and get on the good side of the Temple for ridding them of an impostor."

"And save your body's purity at the same time," Pallas heard Chirranirr whisper. Sugar-Lips snickered.

"I think they would have preferred killing him," Barcola said dryly. "The Temple's not known for forgiveness when it comes to this sort of thing."

Pallas shrugged. "I'm on good terms with them. They trust my judgement."

"Well, go on," Barcola said, sitting down at the table with Pallas. "I'm listening. How'd you stop him?"

Pallas laughed, a little embarrassed. "Well, it was simple, really. I plied the fool with matze until he wouldn't be able to tell hound meat from guar dung, then pulled this out." She placed a nearly-empty bottle on the table. "I made it before my meeting with 'Nerevar'." She smiled. "And I'm proud to say, it's the best I've ever made."

Barcola stared, first at Pallas, then at the bottle. "You poisoned him?"

Pallas grinned. "Not really. I just challenged the fool to drink a potion that would prove his ever-so-immortal strength and his claim to be Nerevar Incarnate." The Nord giggled. "He'll have droops for a month." She grinned, incredibly pleased with herself.

"That's it?" Barcola frowned. "That's the ending to the marvellous story? You gave him a drink that would make him sick?" Even Chirranirr and Sugar-Lips looked disappointed.

Pallas shrugged. "I saved his life, didn't I? And mine too. It doesn't matter the journey as long as the end is reached. Though, Barcola," Pallas added, "Caius may be coming here tonight to rent a room." She shrugged sheepishly. "I forgot to open the window."

"Sister Pallas," Chirranirr said, coming up to sit beside her, "You could have simply killed him, no?"

Pallas shrugged. "I'm not that bloodthirsty." She picked up her mug of greef and saluted her friends. "Here's to Nerevar - whoever he is." Pallas hid a smile behind the mug as she drank.

There was a tang in the alcohol she hadn't noticed before.

Caius turned the bottle in his hands twice before setting it back down on the table. It was completely empty now.

"Sorry," the spymaster said, the ghost of a smile on his face, "But I was just curious to see if it affects all Nords, not just ones that claimed to be Nerevarines."

Pallas managed a savage smile, then downed the rest of her alcohol. "Wonder no longer." She rose to her feet. "Excuse me for a moment." She left the room with all the dignity she could muster.

After a moment to control her giggles, Pallas considered going back in there, to show Caius she was perfectly fine. But she changed her mind.

_Bah, let them laugh_, the Nord thought, grinning, _It's not often that people get a good laugh at my expense. 'Sides, the Temple might get suspicious, and I can't save myself twice in one night._

Whistling, Pallas strode out into the night. Maybe, one day, she'd let everyone know that the potion she made would only work if added to matze, that it was harmless when added to greef. But not tonight.

Maybe some other time.

* * *

**A/N**: I think the reason Caius spiked Pallas' drink was because she forgot the open the windows :P 

Well, let me just say this started out as a serious fanfic... it really did! and then my brain died because of all the evil schoolwork and... well, everything after Caius's parting thoughts about Pallas' cooking is just.. brain-drivel. But if you like, comment.


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